


Demons In The Dark

by angelpies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Demon!Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelpies/pseuds/angelpies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean has become a demon, Sam is a little confused about what to do about his newly demonic older brother, and Cas might be a little too attracted to this new demonic version of his beloved Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Demon Is Born

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, so I'm not sure how good it is or how long it will be. Let me know if you want to hear more of what I've written!

Dean first discovered he was a demon on a Friday afternoon. Of course, at that occurrence of events he had no idea what time it was, or the day of the week, or even the year. At his initial departure of the land of the dead, a few thoughts flickered through his previously unoccupied mind: one, perhaps he was in fact still dead, simply arriving at his destination – the pit. Or, two, perhaps he had never died at all. Maybe Sam did a good ol’ patch-up job and Dean was ready to fill the vacancy as Sam’s partner in crime. The third idea that Dean contemplated was perhaps he had already made his pit stop in hell and Cas dragged him back out again, causing Dean to plunge back into his fresh, ready made body – miraculously with no memory of Hell, and off to save the world, again. 

Of course, none of these speculations seemed to be the correct one, as once his eyes had been unstitched, his body untethered, Dean’s eyelids met the sky followed by his eyes meeting the stained and familiar ceiling of his bedroom in the bunker. Not the inside of a coffin, not walls of chains and blood and fire. The familiar smell of the bunker - dusty literature and cold beer - infused Dean’s senses and he realized rather dizzily that these facts did not rule out not having died at all. And yet he somehow he knew he had. And with that thought, Dean began to choke and spit on the memories beginning to bile within his constricted throat. 

He saw his dear Sam kneeling above him, concern written in the creases on his forehead, tears staining his cheeks and neck as he felt his brother wither in his arms. He saw Cas, in this very room Dean now occupied, falling and crashing, his eyes melting and face crumpling as he set his eyes on his love, lying empty and absent. Dean of course understood this was not in fact a memory, considering at the time that this would have occurred he’d of been dead, but that didn’t prevent worry to clutch at his gut, motivating his limbs to spring to action, and rising him from his familiarly comfortable bed and to the floor. 

It was about this time that Dean realized something was wrong. Or rather, as though something was a little… off. Dean immediately attempted to reconcile himself, reminding that pesky inner persona of his that he had indeed just died whilst attempting to eradicate God Himself and that the last thing he should expect was to feel as though he was ready to independently take on an army of angels without his angel blade. 

Yet, this did no such thing as comfort him. So, unsteady on his feet, Dean made his way to his small and tiled bathroom, slamming clenched fists to a ceramic basin and located his reflection in smudged glass of the mirror hanging lopsided and dangerous overhead, meeting black and soulless pitted eyes. 

At that very moment in time, Dean Winchester, 35, discovered the atrocious fact of his demon existence. 

\--- 

Sam first learnt his brother had become a demon on a Friday afternoon. Of course, in the bunker the time and day didn’t seem to matter all that much. Sam sat, his broad shoulders hunched, at the large dining table in the main room, squinting over a centuries old book of lore, desperately reading. He devoured every page in attempt of finding a way to resurrect one who had been stabbed by the first knife. 

He had already summoned Crowley, which had been unsuccessful. The bastard simply smirked upon arrival and bluntly stated Dean not to be dead. Sam had found himself stumbling blindly up stone stairs to where Dean lay, still and torn, the first knife in his arms and blood soaking his shirt. Once Sam had found his way back downstairs, Crowley stood where he had appeared, hands in the pockets of his dark expensive tailored coat, smirk still painted upon his face. Sam’s voice had cracked, his throat constricting as anger and pain shredded apart his insides.

He’d wanted to run at Crowley, make the man pay for the hope he’d given Sam, yet Crowley was the one to make a step forward. “Come now Moose, you don’t want to hurt Dean’s new buddy do you? Imagine how he’d feel when he awakes?” Sam’s fingers had found a fist and his throat had found words. He had demanded for Crowley to tell him what he had done, but before that was possible, Crowley had disappeared, and Castiel took his place. 

As Sam now sat at his place at the monstrous dining table, he recalled Castiel’s face as he saw Dean lying broken and dead. Sam had been aware of Cas’s feelings toward Dean for a fair while, although both men seemed oblivious themselves, or possibly in denial. But seeing Castiel’s body heaving, his hard eyes brim and his face crumple at the sight of Dean’s body, his desperate attempt to heal him, hands running across Dean’s stomach wounds, Sam found himself realizing that Cas had never been in denial. Knowing this sett off an anger in Sam, it simmered and boiled within him as he watched the man who loved his brother. 

And so the two of them devised a plan. Sam would do what he does best – research. He’d roam the libraries and the bunker and the internet, searching for answers as to how to bring Dean back to them, what Crowley meant by Dean not being gone, while Cas found a way to punish Metatron for what he had done. 

\--- 

Dean paused on the last stone stair at the sight of his younger brother. He sat with hunched shoulders, the curls of his longer hair licking at the collar of his shirt, only a sliver of skin showing between the two. Dean wanted desperately to touch the sliver of skin on the nape of Sam’s neck, or rather, just to touch Sam. He was aware that his brother must be in pain, thinking Dean to dead. He wanted to comfort him, and yet Dean was conscious of the fact that all Sam would see as he turned around to face his older brother was the face of a monster. A demon. 

Dean hovered back, cowering in the shadows, understanding that everything had now changed. Upon seeing Dean risen and with blackened eyes, Sam would instantly assume that Dean was possessed, and attempt to perform an exorcism on him, wanting to rid of the demonic creature possessing the lifeless corpse of his older brother. And possibly Dean would be sent back to the pit, to be yet again on and off the rack for an endless amount of years – by his own brother. 


	2. Misconceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel and Sam find it strange Sam's dead brother is up and walking around, and Dean is just discovering the extent of his new demonic status.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, sorry it's a little short. Hope you like :)

When Castiel received the message he was unaware what the time was. He had been standing before Metatron’s dungeon cage in Heaven. The two were watching each other between metal bars, Cas having asked Metatron to explain why he had killed his Dean, and Metatron having simply cocked his head in refusal. Knowing Dean to be dead was destroying Cas. After seeing his lifeless body, the angel’s own body had fallen, he was crashing and he had nothing to hold him up. He had Dean, and he had taken comfort in him until he took too much and then he was not there to seek comfort in. 

For Castiel, time did not particularly matter and so it seemed, neither did it for Sam Winchester. For when his voice broke through angel radio, it cracked as he spoke words Castiel had never dreamt of hearing: "He's gone, Cas. Dean's body - it's gone." Castiel's eyes slipped to the floor as his heart sank inside his chest. With a flutter of his wings he stood before Sam inside the bunker, watching Sam's face shift into surprise and then relief at the sight of his friend come to help him. 

"What do you mean that his body is gone?" Castiel may have phrased it as a question, yet he did not wish for Sam to reply, as he knew what the answer would be and he knew what that would do to him. And yet, this was Sam before him, not Dean who knew how he felt and how his mind worked, and Sam did not understand that Castiel did not want to hear. "I just went to the kitchen for food and I had to sleep, only a few hours at the most. And when I came back, I noticed the first blade was gone from where I put it on the table." Sam's fingers lead Cas's vision behind him, to a box that had held the first blade, sitting empty and abandoned on the dining table. "...And then I found Dean's empty room." 

Castiel turned back, his eyes connecting with Sam's, taking in his creased forehead and his eyes that spelled in the language of pain. Cas took a step toward him, numb to the feeling of his feet against the stone, to his legs moving across the floor. And as he walked to Sam, he was walking to Dean. Dean, whom stood in front of Cas, his once green eyes lowered and the length of his body covered in blood that was someone’s other than his. Fingers quaked as the knife in them shook and glinted and dripped with the blood of the torn anonymous face that fell to his feet. 

Yet when Castiel opened his eyes it was Sam who stood before him, and what he had seen was not the reality he lived in. Dean was in hell and Dean's body was gone it was missing and it was not him. Dean would not tear apart an innocent creature; although the demon that now possessed Dean would, and he would more than just hurt a human. And so Castiel took his friends eyes in his own. "We will find it Sam and we’ll send it back to hell.” 

\--- 

Locating a way out of the bunker without being detected by Sam had proved to be harder than Dean had imagined. Sam never seemed to leave the main room of the bunker, not even to provide his body with nourishment or to visit the bathroom. Dean waited hours until his brother finally lifted himself from the chair he occupied, and found his way to the bunker's kitchen, his legs shuffling, his heart heavy. 

Dean wanted nothing less then to leave the safety of the bunker. He knew that allowing himself the freedom of outside was tremendously dangerous. He was a demon, a vicious, ruthless creature that seeks blood and bone and he was walking right into a flesh pit. And yet he knew that staying inside the bunker was suicidal. Sam would find him eventually, it was inevitable, and his brother would not possibly be able to deduce that Dean was still Dean. Or rather, a new version of Dean. 

Dean had let himself out of the bunker, scrambling in the sudden surge of daylight. He had located his beloved impala where it always was in the garage yet he knew that taking it would be impossible - Sam would notice it gone. So Dean had to navigate his way along the roads of Lebanon, Kansas on his own, empty handed, with no provisions. Yet the experience was not unfamiliar to him, so he found no great effort in such a task, stumbling his way into a lonely pub a mere few hours later, once the blazing sun retreated past the horizon and darkness had settled. Dean was in seeking of a drink. 

It was here, amongst the few odd people that occupied the rusted pub that Dean truly understood how much he had changed. 

She approached him after his first drink. Her eyes had settled upon once he made his entrance, her sweeping gaze observing not only a ragged beauty and toned body, but also bloodied clothing, bruised skin, and the remnants of torn flesh. She unexpectedly found herself attraction to the stranger heightened by those aspects, and she agreed to approach him. 

Dean’s head turned away from the tumbler in his hands at a slight cough beside him, to the breasts that sat proudly on the stool next to his. Or rather, to a tightly wound woman, with rather large and obviously purchased breasts that she seemed to pointedly be thrusting in his direction. Dean consumed his alcohol as she attempted to flirt with him, disregarding any scrap of her self-respect. And he never once looked into her eyes, yet when she lifted her bony fingers in his direction, he took them in his own and let her lead him from the rusted pub and out to the dirt and tar in the darkness –to a tough brick wall, to clammy hands down his pants and her purchased breasts against his chest. His breath labored and hands slithered and twitched and tightened around her pale, slim thighs as her mouth glided down the nape of his neck, until it reached the beginning of his shirt, where it stopped, tasting of her curiosity and her suspicion. "Where did you get this?" Dean's fingers removed themselves from the woman's thighs, fingernails picking at crusted blood, mind picking at memories of Cas's legs buckling and head falling to Dean's stomach at the sight of him dead. 

"What's wrong?" The woman's voice was a warmth against his tongue, and his mouth found hers as his fingers found the knife strapped in the belt of his jeans, curling and then navigating to the curve of her back. The metal pushed into her skin and her head flew back from Dean's, a gasp followed by a cry. "Oh god, your eyes!" Dean knew what she saw: his eyes had become black and demonic, a knife pushed into her flesh. And yet he felt no need for her not to see, he felt a warmth glide into his stomach, and his voice found cracked and broken words for the first time: "I don't think God has much to do with them." And with this, Dean's knife plunged into the woman's back. Her head lulled forward, causing Dean to notice her eyes for the first time. They were large and blue and innocent and dead. The woman's plastic breasts glinted as her body dropped to the dirt with a dull thud.


End file.
